Places I Have Never Been
by Girl in a White Dress
Summary: Five ways Ruth and Harry could find each other again. Spoilers until the end of season 6.
1. rendezvous

Disclaimer: Not my characters, much to my dismay.  
Summary: Five times Harry and Ruth could have found each other again.  
A/N: Thank you delgaserasca for the beta.

_And there's no mountain too high no river too wide  
Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side  
Storm clouds may gather and stars may collide  
But I love you until the end of time_

("Come What May", Moulin Rouge soundtrack)

1. Rendezvous

The café is small and intimate, designed for lovers to meet. She arrives early, a habit she cannot break, and chooses a table in the back, far from the window where passersby might see. The waiter brings her a glass of wine and she knows she shouldn't drink on an empty stomach, but it gives her something to do while she waits and wonders if he's going to come.

He shouldn't. This is a stupid, reckless idea, and it's going to get them into trouble.

She downs the rest of the wine and stands, preparing to leave. She hates herself for running, but she's been running for so long it seems that it's all she knows how to do.

"I've not kept you waiting long, have I?"

She turns, startled at the sound of his voice because despite how fiercely she'd hoped she never thought he would actually come.

Blinking back sudden tears, she touches his arm to steady herself – and perhaps for reassurance that he's real. When she can speak again, she says, "You're right on time."

He smiles, and it occurs to her that maybe he had doubts she'd be here.

"It's good to see you, Rachel."

She's carried the name for almost a year but this is the first time she likes it. He says 'Rachel' the same way he'd said 'Ruth', and she no longer feels like somebody else.

When it becomes obvious he is waiting for her to speak, she laughs. "It's good to see you, too."

Over dinner he tells her about Zaf and Ros and Jo; the barest of details, using different names. Then he holds her hand, his thumb gently stroking her palm, and she focuses on that in an attempt to control her tears. She will not grieve yet. This time with Harry is precious, and when he is gone she can cry for everything that has been lost.

"Do you fancy a walk?"

She nods, and before long they're strolling arm-in-arm along the bank of the Seine.

"I don't want this to be the last time, the only time—" She bites her lip. She has no right to ask Harry to continue compromising himself just to see her.

"It won't be."

"It's not safe—"

He puts a finger on her lips to shush her, and his smile is gentle but determined. "There are so many things I regret. You're not going to be one of them."

"Harry—"

He kisses her, and she loses all will to argue with him. She begins to cry and he looks at her with an expression of bewilderment. "What's wrong?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing. I'm just – happy. I'd forgotten what happy felt like."

"Me too," he says.

"My flat's not far from here." Suddenly shy, she looks away.

"Lead the way."

She looks at him, sees his love for her, and smiles. "All right. Follow me."

"To the ends of the earth."

She rolls her eyes, and they begin to walk.


	2. we never will be

_I didn't say all the things that I wanted to say  
And you can't take back what you've taken away  
'Cause I feel you, I feel you near me_

("Damaged", Plumb)

2. We Never Will Be

The postcards come once a month, like clockwork. From Paris, Rome, Vienna. Cities whose names he can't pronounce. There is never a message – he even checks the stamps for hidden microdots – but the address is in her handwriting, and he knows.

He keeps the postcards locked in a safe; they are, after all, his only connection to her.

In the fifteenth month, there is no postcard, but a full week passes before he allows himself to worry. He takes leave, arranges for someone to look after the animals, and heads for Zurich, from where the last postcard had been sent.

It takes almost ten days to track her down. She calls herself Rebecca now; in her new life she is a translator.

In her new life she is in a coma.

He stands at the foot of her hospital bed, staring at her as the nurse explains what happened. His brain only registers fragments: _walking home, drunk driver, no hope of recovery_.

He sits next to her bed and watches her. It isn't fair. After everything she sacrificed for him, to end up the victim of a drunk driver—

(Later, he will investigate further and find out that the accident has Oliver Mace's fingerprints all over it. He will learn that Mace tracked Ruth through the postcards. He will go to Mace with the intention of killing him. But not yet.)

He holds her hand, so small and fragile in his, and he weeps for the loss of everything that could have – should have – been. He kisses her forehead and tells her he loves her, half-hoping that she will wake up like a fairytale princess and they can have their happily-ever-after.

She does not wake. The monitors do not change. The nurse takes pity on him and brings in a cot, but he does not move from his position in the chair.

He apologises for waiting so long to ask her to dinner, tells her how hard it was to let her go, and how hellish the last year and a half has been. He closes his eyes and prays for a miracle.

On the evening of his third day there, her heart simply stops beating. Doctors and nurses push him aside as they try to bring her back. His own heart is breaking.

An hour later, he kisses her one last time before pulling the sheet up to cover her face.

He should have looked for her sooner, he thinks. He should never have let her go in the first place. He should have gone with her. To everyone else she has been dead for more than a year, and Harry knows he must carry the burden of this death alone.

He keeps her necklace in the safe with the postcards and scatters her ashes in the sea. She is everywhere and nowhere, and sometimes Harry imagines he hears the ghost of her laughter in the wind.

(Oliver Mace confesses, and the following day the news reports his suicide.)


	3. paradise

_And you're on fire  
When he's near you  
You're on fire  
When he speaks  
You're on fire  
Burning at these mysteries_

("On Fire", Switchfoot)

3. Paradiso

Abigail thinks she may have a bit of a crush on her lecturer. Rose Evans isn't a strikingly beautiful woman, but there's something about her that touches Abigail. She tells herself that she didn't come to Rome to fall in love; and besides, Abigail knows without asking that Rose is as straight as they come.

Rose turns out to be Abigail's thesis advisor, and over coffee and discussions of Dante and Beatrice, Abigail realizes that Rose is living with a broken heart.

Abigail doesn't pry. She values her own privacy too much to disrespect Rose's.

But one night, over too much wine, Abigail says, "It's strange having an English woman teaching Italian literature in Rome."

Rose's smile seems forced. "No stranger than an American doing her dissertation on a dead Italian poet."

Abigail concedes the point.

"But maybe this is purgatory," Rose says, a little softer. In that moment Abigail sees just how broken and fragile Rose is, and feels sudden anger at the man who hurt her friend.

She pulls Rose to her feet and drags her to the kitchen.

"What? Abigail—"

"Don't argue. We're baking."

"Baking? What?"

"Cupcakes."

"Cupcakes?"

"Trust me on this."

Rose looks at her strangely for a moment, then shrugs.

It's nice to hear Rose laugh.

A few weeks after that, Abigail knocks on Rose's door, and can't hide her surprise when she sees a man inside the apartment. One look at Rose is enough to see that she's been crying. Abigail turns to glare at the man.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Abigail, it's all right," Rose says.

"Did he hurt you?" Abigail slips her hand into her pocket, sliding her phone out.

"It isn't what you think." Rose touches Abigail's arm lightly and smiles.

"I can come back later," the man says.

"Or not at all," Abigail mutters.

"No, Harry. Stay. Abigail, I'm sorry. I know we were supposed to meet."

It's only just occurred to Abigail that Rose's smile is real, and she looks happier than Abigail's ever seen her.

"Don't worry." Abigail edges toward the door. "You're in the middle of something."

Abigail never finds out who Harry is, but Rose smiles more in the months after that day. Abigail's almost afraid to ask.

When Rose fails to return from her summer holiday, Abigail realizes she's not surprised. She's worried, until one morning she receives a postcard with the word _Paradiso_ written on the back. There's no other message, but Abigail understands.

Years later, she's walking through Central Park when a couple on a bench catches her eye. Rose's laugh hasn't changed, nor has the way she looks at Harry. Abigail wonders if they're just in her imagination, but then Rose looks her way and smiles.

Abigail raises her hand in a wave. Then she turns and continues walking.

When she gets home, she looks at Rose's postcard, then tears it up and lets the pieces fall into the trashcan. Rose found her paradise; it's time Abigail looks for hers.


	4. breathe

_Everything changes  
__Everything falls apart_

("Stupid", Sarah McLachlan)

4. Breathe

She stares at the words on the screen, and for a moment she cannot breathe. Her vision blurs; she blinks, and tears spill down her cheeks. Without thinking, she picks up the phone.

"Tell me it's not true."

A surprised gasp on the other end, then Malcolm says, "I'm sorry."

She hangs up, and knows there's only one thing to do now.

Seven hours later, she enters London. An hour after that, she breaks into Harry's house from the back. Scarlet rushes to greet her, getting under her feet, and the cats watch her, unimpressed. Fidget twitches his tail, blinks once, then goes back to sleep.

Harry is in the bedroom. She stands at the door and watches the rise and fall of his chest, and finally she can breathe easily again. Looking at him now, her earlier panic fades slightly and she lets herself believe that maybe, just maybe, it isn't true after all.

The floor creaks when she steps forward. He wakes, and time stands still as they stare at each other.

"Ruth?"

She nods.

He smiles, and she closes the distance between them.

"I had to come. I couldn't bear to think—" She chokes up. Harry pulls her into his arms and she desperately wishes things were different. This is not the reunion she has dreamed about.

"Oh, Ruth, I'm so sorry."

"They're sure?"

"Yes."

That single word chills her to the core, but she manages to ask, "How long do you have?"

"Four to six months." A deep, sad sigh. "With treatment. Without—" He shrugs, and glances down at their joined hands.

She shakes her head, refusing to accept it. She looks at him critically; he seems tired but otherwise healthy.

He does not look like a man with cancer.

He does not look like he is dying.

"Harry." Her hand slides over his heart and she feels his pulse beneath her palm, steady and strong. He has always been so strong, and she can't bear to think of what this disease is going to do to him.

"Oh, Ruth, don't cry. It's okay." He tucks her hair behind her ears and smiles, but there are tears in his eyes too.

"It isn't supposed to be like this." She thinks she should know by now that life is unfair.

"I know."

"I love you," she says, because she needs to say it while she still has time.

"And I love you." His smile is brighter now, and Ruth wishes she'd had the courage to say the words sooner. She vows she won't let another day pass without telling him at least once every day.

"Don't leave me again," he says.

"Never." She brushes his tears away with her fingertips, ignoring her own tears, then she leans forward and kisses him.

(In the morning, Malcolm arrives to check on Harry; there's no one home and the animals are gone. He stands in the empty house for a moment, then smiles before he leaves.)


	5. lightness of being

_All of the moments that already passed  
We'll try to go back and make them last_

("Try", Nelly Furtado)

5. Lightness of Being

It turns out Malcolm has known all along. Harry spends several hours wondering how to extract the information, eventually deciding on the direct approach.

"Where is she?"

Malcolm seems almost relieved to tell him.

For the first time in almost a year, Harry's heart feels light.

He knows he cannot act rashly. He needs to think, to plan, to make sure that nothing goes wrong. So it's almost a month before he finally sees her again.

She is sitting in a coffee shop, head bent over a book, lost to the world. Her hair is slightly shorter, she's wearing that same necklace, and she's beautiful. Prague has obviously been good to her. A waiter brings her a pot of tea; she glances up briefly and smiles before returning her attention to the book.

_Crime and Punishment_. In the original Russian. Of course.

He smiles, and crosses the room. "Excuse me, Miss Eyre. I think this belongs to you."

He slides a book across the table and sits down, enjoying her expression of surprise. She glances at the new book and smiles.

"You know, in the book, Jane goes back to Mr. Rochester."

Her smile fades. "In the book, Jane can go back."

"Fortunately your Mr. Rochester doesn't give up quite so easily as Jane's."

She touches the teapot. "Something to drink?"

She has always been strong, but looking at her now he sees new strength. "Tea? How very English."

"Harry—"

His hand finds hers. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too, but you know I can't—"

"Actually, you can." He grins; that's twice in one day he's rendered her speechless.

"Harry." She shakes her head.

"It's over. You've been cleared. Come home with me, Ruth." It's the first time in months he's said her name aloud.

She blinks quickly; her eyes are bright with unshed tears.

"Come home with me, Ruth," he repeats, just to make sure she's heard him.

She's still shaking her head, and it occurs to him suddenly that Ruth might not want to return to her previous life. It has been almost a year, after all. Maybe she's moved on, met someone, made a new life that has no place for him in it.

But then she says, "I can really go home?" and Harry's doubts disappear just like that.

"If you want to."

"Yes. Yes!" She begins to laugh, and he has the impression that, like him, she hasn't had much to laugh about this year.

He's laughing now, too.

"When can we leave?"

Another brief moment of uncertainty. "There is one more thing. Your house was sold."

"Oh. Well, of course."

"So what I was wondering when I said, 'Come home with me,' was if you'd come home with _me_."

This makes three times she's speechless.

"You don't have to answer right now."

"Yes," she says, and her smile is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"Since you already have my cats," she adds.

"Of course."

And Harry is whole again.


End file.
